The Faded Shield
I. "Item 4: Grain, dry, unsealed. Count: 12 jars. Condition: Intact." I read the line three times. The ink was smudged, the paper soft from the damp that had soaked through my sleeve. It was the heat that made the noon impossible, a physical weight pressing against the eyelids, but the real pressure came from the shutter banging all night, a rhythmic violence that kept me awake while I sorted...
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